The Painter
by Distinctly M.E
Summary: Joe recieves a very special gift and learns to follow his dreams, with some surprises along the way.


The young man ran his fingers lovingly over the wooden lid of a small box before unclasping the delicate silver latch and opening it. The brightly colored powders' brilliance had not faded over the years and, though the bottles were somewhat emptier than they had been originally, they still held the same magic that they had the first day he'd seen them.

The man allowed his mind to wander back to the year that he'd received this most precious of gifts, the year he had learned to dream.

_The fire crackled merrily, throwing light onto the faces of two boys and onto the form of a man. The man's head was bent over a newspaper, pouring over the latest news of the faraway world of the East. The two boys were battling it out over the checker board, but the pieces piled on one side showed that this game was definitely stacked in the younger boy's favor._

"_Pa?" the small voice caused the man to look up from his paper._

"_Yes, Joseph?"_

"_Pa, what'll I be when I grows up?"_

_The man hid a smile behind the folds of paper before once again looking up to face his youngest son. "Well, whatever you want to be, Little Joe."_

"_Yeah," the other boy eagerly looked up from the board where he'd been concentrating, "Pa tol' me that if I work real hard I could even be a train conductor on one of them fancy loco…loco…locomoter-thingies."_

_The one called Joe frowned. His seven-year-old face scrunched in concentration as he pondered what his father and brother had said. Finally he once again looked at his pa. "I can be __anything__ I wanna be?"_

"_Of course, Son."_

"_Then I know what I'm gonna be."_

_Both the man and the other boy suddenly looked quite interested._

"_I wanna be a painter." Joe smiled his gap-toothed grin and gazed up expectantly into his father's face._

"_Well, Joe," the man had not been expecting this. Cowboy or Marshall or even a train conductor would be expected, but a __painter__? "Well, Joe, I'm…" He tried once more, but still the words refused to come. "Joe…Joe that's wonderful." He finally managed a smile, and slowly the perfectness of this idea set in. It would keep his precious youngest son, who had always been so slight for his age, away from the dangers of wild horses and maddened steers. The smile on his face became genuine. "Sure, Little Joe, that's a great idea. You know that you're going to need a lot of practice, though."_

_Joe nodded his head eagerly; he was willing to do whatever it took to become an artist._

"_Why do ya wanna be a painter, Joe?" Joe's brother asked incredulously. "They never get to do anything fun."_

"_Yeah, but Hoss, you remember how we were learning about that painter fella in school the other day. Maybe, if I work real hard, I'll be famous too someday."The boy's green eyes gleamed with excitement._

_Hoss looked disappointed at the missed opportunity for a moment, but then perked up as a man called out from the kitchen that hot cocoa was ready._

"Little Joe, supper!"

"Comin' Pa!"

The young man hurriedly shut the box and tucked it back into its spot with all of his most treasured possessions: his mother's music box, a bundle of letters and the pocket watch his father had given him the day he turned twenty. With a last glance backwards, the man brushed a tear from his eye, opened the door and walked briskly toward the stairs. Supper wouldn't wait on memories.

_Over the next few weeks Joe's dedication did not waver, and the house was full of rough sketches that could only be interpreted by one who was seven years old. On the day that Joe discovered that squeezing raspberries produced a purply-red juice that was just right for filling in the lines of his drawings, berries began disappearing from the ranch-house kitchen._

_One evening before supper a short Chinese man came running into the great room where the family sat. He cleared his throat and when he'd gained the desired attention announced, "Mista Ben, Hop Sing quit!"_

_Ben struggled to hide a smile; how many times had this announcement been made in the last eight years that Hop Sing had been in the family's employ? Hoss was devastated; how would he survive without supper? Joe was too busy painting to even notice, earlier he'd discovered that boot polish was the same color as his horse Molasses and was trying to portray a fast trot._

"_Hop Sing what's wrong?" Ben tried his hardest to sound worried, but he feared that his amusement had been evident in his voice._

"_Too much foolishment in this house. Hop Sing pick berries yesterday, berries disappear. Hop Sing pick more berries today, they disappear too. Hop Sing go back to China where berries stay in bowl." Hop Sing gave his head an emphatic nod._

_Ben frowned and looked over to where his youngest was busily rubbing boot polish onto a scrap of paper. Perhaps this whole painting thing wasn't such a brilliant idea after all. Just then Joe looked up and gave his father a smile of sheer bliss. Ben's frown vanished; maybe the idea wasn't so bad after all._

"_Hop Sing, I'll go pick ya' some more berries!" Hoss was frantic, "I promise! Just please don't go back to China; if you leave I'll starve to death!"_

"_Number 2 son no starve." Hop Sing was trying his very best to sound gruff. "You have plenty meat on your bones."_

"_Aw, Hop Sing, please don't leave!" Hoss turned his "pleading puppy" face on and fixed his eyes on the cook._

_Hop Sing fidgeted uncomfortably; he really did love Hoss, even if he was always stealing food from the kitchen. "Alright. But no more stealing berries! You understand?"_

"_But Hop Sing! I didn't steal no berries!"_

_Ben, who had been watching this whole interchange with amusement, realized it was time to intervene. "Joseph, do you have anything to say to Hop Sing?"_

_Joe didn't even look up from his masterpiece. "Just a sec, Pa, I'm almost finished with Molasses's tail."_

"_Not 'just a sec'; you need to apologize to Hop Sing __right now__."_

_At the word "apologize" Joe looked up with a start. "For what, Pa?"_

"_Hop Sing says that berries have been mysteriously disappearing from his kitchen. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"_

"_Just a sec." Joe jumped to his feet and dashed up the stairs._

"_What…?" Ben shook his head and turned to Hop Sing. "I don't think Hoss was the one to take those berries. You see…" Ben was interrupted by the appearance of a breathless Joe at his side._

"_Here ya go, Hop Sing." The little boy proudly produced a sheet of white paper from behind his back and handed it to Hop Sing._

_The Chinaman studied the picture for a moment before a slow smile crept across his face. "You do very good job, Mista Little Joe. You grow up to be very famous painter."_

_Joe's cheeks turned pink and he stammered something about being very tired before scampering back upstairs._

_Ben craned his neck to try to see what it was that had pleased the little man so much, but no matter how he tried he just couldn't catch a glimpse of it. All he ever saw was a flash of purply-red._

"Mista Little Joe, you not eat! What wrong with you?"

The young man jolted back to reality, suddenly aware of the fact that all eyes were on him. "I-I'm sorry; I was just remembering."

"What were you remembering, Son?" Ben asked, his dark eyes clouded with worry.

"Oh, nothin', Pa. I think I'll head upstairs. I'm pretty worn out."

"But you ain't even touched your supper!" Hoss's tone was indignant.

Joe smiled at his older brother's tendency to worry about his appetite, but shook his head nonetheless. "Like I said, I'm pretty worn out."

"You sure you're all right?" Ben knew his youngest son well enough to know when something was really wrong.

"Yeah, Pa. I'm fine. G'night."

As Joe walked up the stairs he could hear Hop Sing ranting in a mixture of Chinese and English. He shook his head with a small smile and shut the door of his room, leaving the noise outside.

"_Joseph, come here!"_

_Joe hurriedly jumped up from the dirt where he'd been crouching and scuttled over to his father's side. "What is it, Pa?"_

_Ben's eyes twinkled as he held out a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a bit of twine. "This came in on the last stage. It's addressed to you."_

"_Me?" Joe asked in astonishment. "Ya mean somebody done sent me somethin? Just for me?" He couldn't believe his ears. He'd never even gotten a letter in the mail, much less a package. Ever so gently, as if the parcel was made of glass, Joe reached out and took it from his father's hands. He sat down on the steps of the stagecoach office and delicately began untying the knots that held the paper in place. When the strings had been carefully set to one side the boy began to meticulously unwrap the paper._

"_Doggone it Little Joe," Hoss said, peering over his brother's shoulder, "why don't ya just get it over with?"_

_Joe silenced him with a severe glance before returning to the slow process of opening his treasure._

_Ben gazed lovingly down at his son's curly head, bent so studiously over the brown object balanced on his knees. How did men survive without sons to love and look after?_

_Finally the paper was removed and a small wooden box was revealed, an envelope elegantly fastened on top. The small hands gently slipped the letter from its bonds and carefully unfolded the crisp yellow paper._

"_What's it say, Joe?" Hoss asked, squirming with anticipation._

"_It says, 'Dear Joe, Pa w-w-rot?'" Joe looked up questioningly at his father._

"_Wrote."_

"'_Pa wrote to me a-a-about your in-inte-interest?'"_

"_You're right, interest."_

"'…_your interest in painting. I have sent you this…' what's that word Pa?" Joe held up the letter for his father to see._

"_Try sounding it out, Joe."_

_Joe shot his father a sour look before bending his head once more to the task at hand. "'As-sem-bl-age. Assemblage of art in-stru-ments, instruments!'"_

"_Very good, son."_

"_Pa, what's a 'assemblage of art instruments'?"_

"_Well, why don't you look inside the box and find out?"_

_Joe handed the letter to Ben for safekeeping and gently unhooked the latch. His eyes widened in amazement as he surveyed row upon row of brushes, bottles of brightly colored powder and sheets and sheets of paper. "Oh Pa," he breathed._

_Hoss looked on with a smile; he loved to see his little brother so happy. He vaguely wondered what exactly was in the small glass bottles, but he figured that whatever it was it must be something marvelous. "Wow, Joe! It's better than Christmas, huh?"_

_The boy nodded his head, too overwhelmed by the magnificence of the gift to speak._

_Ben had a lump in his throat as he softly read the remainder of the letter aloud, "'Dear Joe, Pa wrote to me about your interest in painting. I have sent you this assemblage of art instruments so that you can further hone your skills. I always knew you'd do something big with your life. I'm sorry that I won't be able to make it home over break as I'd planned. Remember that I'll always love you and I miss you more than anything else in the whole world, Little Joe. Write back soon, Your Brother, Adam Cartwright.'"_

A tear splashed onto the yellow paper, blotting out several letters as the ink ran, wet once more after so many years. The young man threw the letter down on the bed in anger as more and more tears blurred his vision. Adam had said he'd always love him, but he'd left without any real explanation. Adam had said he missed him more than anything else in the whole world, yet there hadn't been a letter from him for over a year.

"What did I do wrong?" The anguished words bounced off the walls, echoing and morphing into a mournful howl. All the arguments between Adam and Joe suddenly began replaying themselves in Joe's mind, and he shook his head, trying to clear it of the heated voices.

The bedroom door squeaked softly on its hinges accompanied by a kind voice. "May I come in, Son?"

The words took the young man by surprised, but he quickly recovered and vehemently shook his head, brushing a tear away with an angry swipe of his hand as he did so. "Just leave me alone," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Joseph, what's wrong? And don't try to tell me that it's nothing, because "nothing" didn't cause your silence at supper or the tears you're trying to hide from me." The older man's eyes scanned the room, looking for some hint as to what had caused his son's misery. A small wooden box caught his gaze, causing a well-known lump to rise in his throat. Adam.

"Pa, I just…" his words caught on a sob and he hung his head as silent sobs wracked his body.

Ben strode to his son's side and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. Joe's body went rigid for a moment, but then he relaxed, letting his father pull him into his arms. The familiar warmth and protection was comforting to Joe, reminding him that some things would never change, like his father's love for him.

_The house was extraordinarily quiet over the next few days, and Ben found it hard to concentrate on book-keeping tasks in the silence. Once he tried calling Joe downstairs and telling him to play in the great room, but Joe politely requested that he be allowed to stay in his room. No amount of prying could convince the boy to reveal what was going on in his room, but Ben had no doubt that it involved the paint set._

_Finally one morning, after six days of silence, the air was suddenly alive with whoops and shouts of joy. Joe came bounding down the stairs, carrying with him a neatly rolled piece of parchment._

"_Pa, PA, it's finished; it's finally finished!" the boy's face was aglow with excitement._

_Both Ben and Hoss looked up from the breakfast table in surprise. "What's got you so excited, Son?"_

"_It's finished! My painting is finally finished!"_

_Hoss's smile spread from ear to ear. "Now you're a real painter, Little Joe!"_

_Ben, too, smiled. "May we see your masterpiece?"_

_Joe nodded enthusiastically and then, slowly and carefully, unrolled the paper._

_Ben let out a slow breath of admiration as he surveyed his son's handiwork. The painting showed a lush hillside, gently sloping down to meet a large lake. Two horses grazed on the hill, one a dark bay and the other a chestnut. Nearby stood two figures, a short one with curly brown hair and a green jacket, and a tall one dressed all in black with a book in hand. They were turned toward the lake so that their faces were obscured, but Ben knew exactly who he was looking at even when his vision blurred. "Joseph, it's lovely."_

"_Oh, Little Joe," Hoss's voice was awed, "it's amazin'."_

"_Pa," Joe's voice was remarkably quiet, "can I send it to Adam?"_

_Ben nodded his head. "I'm sure Adam would love it."_

"_Thanks, Pa." Joe rolled the paper back up and set it gently down on the sideboard before sliding thoughtfully into his seat. "Pa?"_

_Ben was still somewhat stunned by the beauty of what he had just been shown, but he forced himself to concentrate enough to answer his son. "Yes?"_

"_If I send Adam that picture, will he know who it is?"_

"_Yes, Joseph, I'm sure he will."_

"_Good."_

"Hey Pa!" Hoss's voice boomed up the stairs and through the door, causing both father and son to look up. "Pa! Where are ya?"

"I'm upstairs, Hoss."

Joe pulled himself out of his father's embrace and wiped all traces of tears from his face. Ben took the hint and stepped out into the hallway, where he was soon met by a delighted Hoss.

"Hey, Pa, look what Hop Sing just gave me! He done gone and forgot to tell us about it when he came back from town!"

Ben fingered the letter, addressed to Joseph Cartwright in his eldest son's familiar scrawl. "Joe, it's for you."

Joe slipped into the now crowded hallway and took the envelope his father held out to him. He immediately recognized the elegant handwriting that was exclusively Adam's. In breathless anticipation he opened the seal and pulled out a piece of crisp white paper and a folded piece of parchment. He was oblivious to everything but the letter as he unfolded the smaller sheet and silently began to read.

"Well, what's he say, little brother?"

"Shush! Let him read, Hoss!"

"Well I just wondered…"

"Shush!"

Joe's eyes were misty as he looked up at his family. He said nothing, not trusting his voice, but instead handed the paper to his father, keeping the still folded piece securely in his grasp.

After quickly scanning the contents of the letter, Ben looked to Joe. "Do you want me to read it aloud?" When Joe nodded his consent, Ben cleared his throat and began to read:

Dear Joe,

I'm sorry it's been so long since you've heard from me. I wrote countless letters, but I was never in a location where I could send them; then, what with preparations and all…, but I'm getting ahead of myself. This letter serves two purposes: one, to notify you that I am coming home and will arrive by Christmas, and two, to entrust to you one of my most treasured possessions. You may or may not remember that when you were seven you decided that you wanted to become a painter. You only ever painted one real painting before your interest dwindled, as Pa and I knew it would. I, however, have kept that painting all these years, and would look at it whenever I felt homesick. I was afraid that it might get damaged in the shuffle of packing and shipping things home, and so I've sent it to you. I'll see you by the lake soon, Joe.

Much Love, Adam


End file.
